


A Storm Coming In

by ninhursag



Series: Stormbreakers [1]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Assassins & Hitmen, Consent Issues, F/M, Feelings, Girl Saves Boy, High Fantasy, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Intrigue, M/M, Magic, Multi, Murder, Past Torture, Scars, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-04-06 22:26:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19071922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninhursag/pseuds/ninhursag
Summary: A fantasy au, just because.Sara Lance, the assassin known as Ta-er al-Usfar travels to Lord Lewis Snart's lands on a commission. She accepts his offer to bed his beautiful son. But who really hired her?Leonard Snart is trapped under his father's dominion. Is Sara the way out?Meanwhile, the barbarians in the South have a new king, Chronos, and he plans to burn the kingdom to the ground unless he's stopped. What does he really want?And there's a rumour in the capital that a man in a green hood is stalking King Merlyn...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Contains: consent issues, mind the tags. Suggestions of forced prostitution.
> 
> Unconventional gender roles. 
> 
> Authorial self indulgence. 
> 
> At least for now, Sara/Len is the primary pairing.
> 
> Murder in future chapters.

It was a dreary, dismal countryside in the North, the Snart's lands, where Sara Lance found herself. Far from the capital, with its shining towers. Far from the borderlands where the High King's armies were clashing with invading barbarians. 

The castle at least was comfortable and well constructed against the winter wind. The wealth of the land had clearly gone into it.

This was nowhere she would ever come without a mission, and an intriguing one at that. But the Lord of this place had made an offer, even if it wasn't sufficient. And she was interested.

"I've saw you watching my son at dinner, Ta-er al-Usfar," the white haired Lord said to her, as if he were guessing at the subject of her interest. "I could sweeten the offer in that way, if you were interested?"

Sara frowned at him. "Sweeten how? Be specific, Lord Snart."

The Lord's smile was smug, careless. He was a little drunk. "You accept the commission and in addition to the gold I've pledged, I'll have him sent to your rooms." His eyebrows went up. "Unless you'd prefer my daughter. They do say you prefer women but she's a little young for it." 

Sara resisted the urge to laugh in the fat man's face. "And do you often offer up your own flesh and blood in this way?"

"Why offer more money when I have other bargaining tools to hand?" he said instead of arguing. He looked proud of himself, like a man sure of his cleverness.

Sara thought of this man's son, cold eyed and handsome, standing alone at the edge of a crowded room. Not surrounded by all of the expected court hanger-oners who would cling to a wealthy Lord's attractive heir. 

And he was attractive, a tall, slender figure, broad shoulders and a narrow waist. Ice blue eyes and a face and jaw just a hair too strong for the beauty in it to be feminine. He'd dressed in simple blacks and blues that should have been too plain for his station, but offset his eyes perfectly. Like a beautiful, perfectly balanced sword, steel among gems and silk.

The isolation he'd held himself in seemed more sinister in retrospect.

"Very well," she said, suddenly, decisively. "I'll take him with me when I go."

Lord Snart tsked and sneered, "he's my son, not a slave. I'm offering his services for a night, nothing more. Not unless you're offering a good deal more than a simple killing for hire." 

Sara laughed at him, watching him go from confident to uncomfortable under her unflinching gaze. She allowed a servant to refill her wine and turned and drank it, all without taking her eyes off the Lord. Waited until she saw sweat.

"As you say, my Lord. I will complete my commission," she finally said.

"Just don't damage him," Lord Snart said, wiping away sweat with a handkerchief almost casually, relieved. "I may need him to sire a real heir for me someday."

She shrugged, as if she was indifferent. "Agreed."

 

He was waiting for her in her room as promised. Standing by the window, blue eyes dark in the fading evening sunlight. He had a little red ball in his right hand that he was bouncing back and forth on the floor but he put away when she entered.

Drew the curtains shut and lit a candle instead.

His left hand was still and stiff and she realized what she'd missed from further away. It was a false hand, made of wood, useless at his side. No one had mentioned that.

She didn't either.

"Ta-er al-Usfar," he said and met her eyes unflinchingly. That was a rare thing, the thing that had made her notice him in the first place. It was obvious what and who she was and most avoided her open stare, like that would keep them safe.

"That's a title, not a name," she said. "My name is Sara, Lord Leonard."

Leonard's mouth curved a little. "I'll never be Lord of anything, will I, Sara?"

"What makes you say that?" She asked, softly.

"Well first of all, you're here," he said shortly. "A master assassin from the League. You wouldn't work for my father for the coin he offered, it's nothing like enough. That means he's not the employer, he's the job."

Sara shrugged. "He threw your body into the pot, Leonard. Maybe you're undervaluing yourself and what I'd do to win you."

That made him smile and he shook his head, "I value myself highly, but I'm not that skilled a whore and I'm not better than gold."

She laughed out loud. "I'll be the judge of that I suppose."

He shrugged and smiled still. Then leaned down and kissed her, mouth gentle on her lips, an invitation. 

She cupped her hands around the back of his neck and drew him down further. Warm neck, soft skin and muscle under her hands. His lips parted for her easily. 

He was skilled in this, waiting on her to set the pace, give direction in a way that spoke of practice. Mouth sweet. 

Rage flared up for a moment when she thought about that and she wondered how many had him before, like this, on his father's word. She was far from the first.

He went still, like he could feel the tension rise under her skin.

"Sara?" he asked. 

"Do you want this?" she asked back. 

There was something in his eyes, dark and blue and empty. "You're here for him. That's enough for me."

She kissed him again, harder fiercer, and then leaned back, watching his eyes. For something other than that smooth mirror of bleakness. 

"It's not required, I've already been paid and more," she whispered into his skin.

Emotion flickered in those eyes of his. "Consider it a sweetener," he said and then he kissed her again. It was harder, more demanding.

He was good at it, in a practiced way, watching her carefully for reactions to each touch. Not the best-- the best courtesans she'd been with loved their art truly and it showed. There was a hesitance to him, a real fear. He hadn't come to this art willingly.

But he didn't let her go, held on hard and that shook her more than artifice and artistry could have. The sheer courage of him.

She touched him back gently, reverently, touched his beautiful face. "I'm honored, Leonard," she told him.

And he blinked and laughed outright at her. "Your brain's been melted by bad wine, Sara. There's no honor here."

And she didn't press, let him have his defenses.

She watched his eyes when she stripped herself of her black uniform, the armor of the league. Down to linen and skin. He looked hungry and then surprised by that desire.

"You can touch me, if you want," she teased and he smiled and did. Fingers of his real hand light and callused on her skin, tracing over old scars from years of battle. 

He hesitated at the scars left by arrow that had pierced through and looked at her again. "You survived that?" he asked, wonderingly.

She shrugged and shook her head. "I didn't. The league has its ways of keeping us going."

"But you're alive now," he said and she nodded. 

Let him touch with hand and mouth, felt the care in it. He smiled when he tasted her skin, and licked his lips. She grinned back and pressed a quick kiss to his mouth, which made his smile sweeter.

"Can I see you?" She asked, when he made no move to his own clothing. She wondered if he needed help with it, with his hand. But the simplicity of it, dark and unfussy, seemed geared to make it easy.

But he muttered, "Can you?" And slipped back a little, the smile fading from his mouth.

She understood what he'd meant immediately.  
His body, when he stripped it, was hidden under a far too obvious glamour, a small magic bound to his skin. Not powerful enough to hide the missing hand, but it made his skin appear too smooth and unbroken, perfection in a way no human could have. Another spark of rage lit in her belly and she wondered why. And what she would see without it. 

"Is this your magic?" She asked, pressing her hand to that too smooth skin. What she felt under her palm wasn't quite right either. A little too cool, unreal. She pressed harder until he nearly winced and then she felt what she couldn't see. Scars, rough and raised. Everywhere.

He shook his head and looked away. "A hedgewitch my father knows. No one's seen past it that quickly before."

And then he kissed her again before she could reply and she let him press her down into the soft bed. 

His mouth was still warm and real as he kissed his way down her skin, pressed his lips over breasts and belly, scars and marks.

"You have freckles here," he whispered, over the skin of her hip. And she laughed and stroked her hands over his soft, shorn dark hair.

He was ardent and eager, gentle. She shook under his mouth and tongue, let him give her pleasure. Let him tongue her open, rub his thumb against her clit while he did it eager and easy. Let him bring her off that way.

Then, when her breathing steadied, she watched him, his head pillowed on her thigh, cock pressed against his belly. Watching her. 

She ran her fingers over his hair and murmured, "I have a charm against catching a child. Don't worry."

Then helped him up, tugged at him as he moved against her bare, sweaty body. He felt good that way too, the blunt, heavy feel of his cock, the long line of his back under her hands. She was careful not to use her nails, to keep the touch soft and watched him respond to that. Shivering and eager with surprise, this man who had been too much marked.

He returned the gentleness, measure for measure, entering her so slowly he shook with the effort. She kissed his neck and drew him down and in and in by the hips and he laughed at the sensation.

The look on his face when he spilled made her kiss him there again and again, holding him through it.

"I could kill him and make you Lord," Sara told Leonard calmly in the aftermath. His body was lax and still in the bed next to her, warm skin and easy breath until she spoke and he tensed.

"I will never be Lord of this land even if you did," Leonard said, quiet and bleak. "Even when he dies."

"Why not?' Though Sara could guess. His body was bound by a glamour for a reason.

Leonard shook his head and propped himself up on an elbow. He met her eyes again, old sorrow heavy in them. "I am not fit." He swallowed. "The Lord of Central is bound to the land. On the day of his investiture, he must walk the length of the city clad in the sky and show his body is worthy and whole."

"And yours is not," she replied, with a gentleness that she hadn't felt in a long time. "Your hand?"

"More than that. Though that would likely be enough."

He swallowed again and she realized what she saw in him was shame. Instead of explaining further, he stepped out of the bed and walked over to the window.

A glamour, especially a small one cast by a hedgewitch, could be pierced by direct moonlight. He drew back the curtain and let it fall on his bare skin. 

She'd been expecting scarring, felt it when she couldn't see it, but the extensiveness shocked even her. She was too practiced to gasp, would not shame him in that way. These were not marks of war and hunting that would be expected on a worthy Lord. These were the marks of torture, deliberately inflicted to destroy. Whip and burn, blade and brand, with shackle gall leaving thick scars over wrists and ankles.

"Were you meant to die?" she whispered. He looked at her steadily and she suddenly wished that she could cry.

He shook his head. Let the curtain fall back and the glamour flickered over him in the candlelit room. "My father's advisors conspired against him when I was near of age. To replace him. That might have been forgiven, but then I… choose a lover, an old friend, who father considered a shame on our house. I was meant to be unfit, but able to sire him a child when he was ready."

"I'll kill him for you." The words felt like a promise, an oath.

His mouth curled. "I knew you'd kill him from the moment I saw you in the dining hall and understood what you were."

"No," she said, and took his hands in hers, the real one of flesh and the false one too. "I'd have killed him, yes. Now I will hurt him before he dies and put your name on his skin."

"You don't even know me, not really," he said and gave a little half laugh. His eyes gleamed in the candlelight.

"I'd like to know you," she said, honestly. 

"And I you," he replied, softly. Surprised at himself.

"Your sister," she asked then, tasting the idea. "Would she be fit?"

His eyes widened, real hope taking his breath away. "She's ten. It would be under a guardian for now. But yes. She will be fit."

"Then let's plan," she said and he nodded.

 

Down in the town at the bottom of the hill where the Snart Castle stood, a Bard was performing in the square. Bards came rarely, so this one was well attended. He would have news from the rest of the kingdom as well as tales.

And he was a young man, square jawed, broad shouldered and handsome, which helped. He didn't share that he was the youngest son of the Heywood clan, which would have brought the gentry to see him as well.

"Did you know what they say of mighty Chronos?" The Bard asked, serious and searching the expressions of his audience.

"The barbarian king? Many things! But High King Merlyn will send him packing," a young man exclaimed.

"And so he shall," said the Bard who smiled knowingly. "But they say that perhaps Chronos is no barbarian's get after all, but rather the son of a yeoman farmer from the kingdom. From near here, in fact."

"Bah," a girl cried out. "I don't believe that. Why invade the kingdom then?"

The Bard smiled. He had them. "The usual reasons. Money, power, and also the oldest of all… vengeance for a horrible wrong. For they say that Chronos, when he was young, loved a Lord's daughter and she loved him back. A beautiful maiden with ice blue eyes."

One of the older women in the audience began to frown and whispered something to her neighbor. The neighbor laughed and shook her head, as if in disbelief.

The Bard continued. "Of course they hid their love, but the maiden grew older and her father wished to see her wed. For love of this yeoman, the Lord's beautiful daughter rejected the suitors her father choose for her. And the Lord her father grew angry."

The whispering woman shook her head again, "you should not tell this story, Bard," she called out loud. "It's a dangerous one in this country."

The Bard looked at her in some surprise. "I thought they didn't tell this story of Chronos here."

The old woman shook her head. "Not by that name, but I've heard the details of it. You should not speak it."

But there others yelled and shushed her and bid the Bard go on, so he did. He strummed an instrument almost casually as he did.

"Now the Lord may have raged against his daughter, but she was brave and stubborn as steel and would not bend. So he locked her in a deep, dark dungeon without food or water and told her she could come out when she was ready to marry." The Bard paused and looked at the woman. "Is that the story you are forbidden to tell?"

She sighed and shook her head. "Not like that, with a maiden or marriage, no. But something close to it otherwise."

"Well this is my tale, then. With a maiden and such. A few days passed and the yeoman feared for his lover and came to the Lord's castle to rescue her. He was strong and clever and managed to make his way through the defenses and defenders to the lady's prison cell.

"And there he found her, pale and hungry, but steadfast. And they fled the castle together, to his family's holding."

This time there were more frowns and whispers in the audience. A older man asked, "but it was a lady, in this tale? A daughter? Are you certain?"

"Why yes," the Bard said. "Dark haired and blue-eyed, cold but steadfast as the winter in the North she was. But her father would not let her go so easily. He and his men followed the lovers and soon found them and there they did terrible, unspeakable things to the yeoman and his parents and all of their children.

"And as for the Lord's daughter, when it was discovered she was no maiden any longer, her father ordered her chained to a post outside the yeoman's homestead. There they stripped her bare to the sky and scourged her with a whip until the ground ran red with her blood. They brought the tortured yeoman to listen to her scream, but she did not, no matter how they used her." The Bard took a breath. The crowd was utterly silent. The old woman who had first spoken was weeping, as if she'd known the lady herself. As if she'd seen it.

"And then, when they thought she was dying, they put the yeoman and all that was left of his family back into their house and they barred the doors and windows all. Before the lady's eyes they fired the place so that she could see him burn as the life left her. And there should have died Chronos, before he ever lived." The Bard shook his head solemnly. Everyone was staring.

"But he cut off his own hand with a knife one of the guards let slip too close and escaped the chains, the Lord's son did. And so let the yeoman out before he burned," a young woman said out loud.

The Bard stared at her. "In the story I have heard it was a daughter. But yes, she did exactly that. And then collapsed from her wounds and died while the yeoman fled South, swearing a terrible vengeance on all of the kingdom for none had offered any aid. South he fled, to the lands of the barbarians, who welcomed him."

They looked at each other and whispered. 

"How do you tell the end of the story here?" he asked. "Since your version is so different?"

"It's no story here," the old woman said, wiping away her tears. "And we don't know about no Chronos or any barbarians. We didn't know what became of the boy or whether he lived or died after he fled. No one's seen him since and it's been ten years."

The Bard's eyes widened as he realized what he was really hearing. Not a semi-mythical tale, but a real event. He lit up, curiosity filling him. "And the Lord's daug-- son? Is he buried nearby? Could I see the grave?" 

"Buried yes, but dead no. His father keeps him close and he rarely leaves the castle, never unguarded." 

And the Bard clasped his hands in wonder. "But I must speak to him! Chronos' lover alive? The things he must know."

"Well you might get your chance," the old woman said. "I warned you not to tell this story. You should flee."

The Bard began to ask, but then the castle guards came running over the hill. Running right towards him.

He turned and ran.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A conspiracy takes shape. 
> 
> Leonard has cold feet and Sara barrels ahead.
> 
> In the South, Chronos receives a messenger offering an alliance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains: Murder. Otherwise similar to the last chapter.

Among the people it is known that Chronos came down from the Northlands with no name, scarred by fire all over his body. They leaned later that his mother had been one of their people wandered North, which was no surprise to them. He was clearly of the true blood.

He was near sick to death when they found him, burned and broken body held together by a terrible rage. Later he'd tell some of his story, a family cruelly slain, a lover shamed and butchered before his eyes, who'd still spent his last valiant breath to save him.

That no one helped them when they screamed.

"I'll burn them all," he said, staring into the fire pit. "And Central last, and then I'll bring Lewis here. It will take him a long time to die."

And the people gave him the name of Chronos, the devourer. And he had other knowledge, from his northern father, about soldiery and the defenses of the kingdom.

When warriors followed him, they won. And follow they did, so that gold and goods and weapons began to flow South and they borders ran with blood.

On a fine hot day with the sun blazing in the sky, a messenger came from the North. Not from the man they called High King. He was a dark skinned warrior dressed in northern armor who wore a badge with an arrow on it.

"Tell Chronos," the man, who called himself Sir Diggle said, "That the true heir of the kingdom would like to propose an alliance."

And Chronos had laughed then, sprawled out in his seat. "You think I care about that, Diggle? You can all burn, heirs and spares and worthless Kings."

"You must want something?" Sir Diggle said. "Is it money?"

"It's not, I have plenty and can steal more."

"So what?" Came the demand. "You haven't killed me yet, so there must be something I can offer."

"I haven't killed you because you came under flag of truce, we're not animals here. And what I want-- can you bring back the dead, then?" Chronos asked and laughed louder, more bitterly. "Bring back my mother and my sisters? Bring back my partner? I'll help you then."

And Sir Diggle closed his eyes and opened them again and said, "it's been done, but the cost is terrible."

"What could be worse than this?" Chronos asked. Genuinely curious, like he really wanted to find out.

"Where are the bodies buried?" Diggle asked instead of answered, like his offer was a true one.

And Chronos stared at him. "I don't know. What if they burned to ash?"

And Diggle sighed. "That's harder, then."

 

/

Sara woke up alone in the bed. It was late and Leonard was just getting up, the movement of the mattress when he stood was what had woken her.

"Stay," she said, and reached for the warm spot where his body had just been. The room was dark, candle long sputtered out, his body lined in shadows.

"Next time, maybe," he said and she could hear the smile without seeing it. She sighed and rolled into the warmth he'd left behind.

In the morning, Lord Snart invited her to breakfast. He looked smug, supercilious, like he could guess what she'd done and thought he understood what it meant.

"Let's talk business, Ta-er al-Usfar," he said. And talked to her about his neighboring Lord Darbyinian and the water rights the man was trying to sue for.

Sara nodded. It was an easy job while she set up for her main one. Killing Lewis would be easy as well, of course. Setting up his young daughter in his place without challenge would be more difficult. Spiriting his son away, safe in body and mind, most difficult of all. 

She saw Leonard in the hall, walking by himself, tossing a ball in the air and catching it, again and again. He didn't look at her.

The only person he spoke to was a broad, matronly woman who someone told her was his sister Lisa's governess. Even that was a short conversation.

She followed him from a paces behind, not obvious about it but not hiding herself either. He didn't turn around until they'd slipped outside onto the ramparts in the cold bitter air.

"Don't do this, Sara," he said, without looking back at her, but down far below, to the ground. "If you want him to offer a repeat performance, don't look too interested. He'll start to think he has a bargaining chip."

"And are you interested?" she asked softly. 

He turned around then, with those bleak, empty eyes. "Never, ever let him think that," he said starkly. "Remember, I'm watched. Almost always."

She nodded, looked back at him. "Who can I speak to freely? Anyone?"

He frowned, considering. "Angela, in the town. She runs the inn. Knows everyone who comes and goes. The priest, he's new and young, but he was fostered by the West clan before he was appointed here. Father doesn't trust him, so he won't know much, but he's honest." He smiled faintly and shook his head, as if thinking of the man.

"That's two."

"The artificer-- Cisco Ramon. He doesn't like me, but he likes father less."

"Three," she frowned. "No one else? None of his council?"

He laughed bitterly. "Three who can help you and maybe defend themselves if they needed to. The council saw what happened to the last group that tried to replace my father."

"I understand." Sara sighed and leaned against the rampart next to him, their elbows close but not touching. It felt like there was nothing else she could say. He looked tired and worn, dark circles under his eyes and suddenly she couldn't bear to leave it like this. "Are we being watched now?" 

"Not now. It's too cold out here for watchers," he said and tilted his head to eye her, as if wondering what she was thinking. 

"It is cold," she agreed and let a smile slip into her lips. Let the mischief spark. "I could use someone to warm me." 

"Really?" His eyebrows went up and his mouth softened just a little. "I'm not sure where you'd find that person. We're all cold up here."

She laughed and beckoned him with her fingertips. "I don't doubt it. I suppose you'll do anyway, My Lord Cold. So you should kiss me."

Then he grinned back, startlingly sweet, the bleakness in his eyes chased away for a moment. "You're a strange woman, My Lady Death." But he didn't move toward her.

"So no kiss from Lord Cold for Lady Death?" She played at pouting, grinned when it drew a laugh out of him.

"Want to buy a kiss from me, Sara?" He said, lips still curved like a tease. "You should ask the price first, make sure it doesn't cost more than you want to pay."

But then he did kiss her, a gentle brush of lips on her forehead, then on her mouth.

The warmth of his lips lingered even when he slipped away and inside and she touched her hand to her mouth and smiled.

"I'll pay," she mouthed the words, even though he was gone. "But I'd rather earn it."

/

She found unexpected aid when she walked through the town trying to clear her mind.

"Sara," a voice that didn't belong here hissed. "Psst Sara!" And there was Nathaniel Heywood, hiding under a dirty cloak and looking over his shoulders like the world's most suspicious idiot. Hundreds of miles from where she'd left him. No one she could be associated with here.

She clamped a hand over his mouth and dragged him bodily into a bookseller's empty wagon.

"Did you know," Nathaniel said, eyes gleaming, words just spilling out as soon as his mouth was free. "That Chronos-- the Chronos, the devourer, scourge of the South-- was born right here, on a farm a few miles down the road?"

And she could only say, "no and I don't care. What are you doing here, trying to die?"

"I told you," Nathaniel said earnestly. "Looking for Chronos' origins. And I think I've found it. Very tragic and gory, like you'd expect."

And then the thought came to her. Heywood's family name was known. Bards with a true calling, gathering history and news, legal precedent, not just songs and stories. Reliable. "Fine. I'll help you, if you help me."

Nathaniel looked around, as if he was finally growing some caution, "it's not for me. It's for him," he hissed. "The Arrow."

And Sara blinked. "What? Why?" What would he want here and with Chronos of all people? The kingdom's enemy.

"I told you, we're learning about Chronos. Fact is, we need an army, a real one, and he has one."

Sara frowned. "And the Arrow thinks this will work? He's not exactly a popular figure, Chronos. Coming in with his army behind you won't endear you to the people."

Nathaniel Heywood grinned and clasped his hands together. "Well I know a story that could begin to change that. Nothing more powerful than a good story. And that's where I need your help."

And he spoke and she listened and the beginnings of a real plan began to form. 

"I have a story for you too," she said. "And it's the other half of yours."

/

Next, she found the castle's priest, in a closet of a chapel, dark and stuffy. The Snarts had never gone out of their way to do honor to the gods.

The priest, the West boy, was very young and very earnest. In truth he probably was not much younger than her, or Leonard, but his skin was smooth and unmarked and he had a gentle smile that showed gleaming white teeth.

"How can I help you, mistress?" he asked. 

"You're new here, I've been told," she said, softly pitched only to his ear. "Why leave the Wests?"

"You're not afraid to speak your mind, are you mistress um Ta-er--"

"Sara," she interrupted. "My name is Sara Lance."

He smiled, still earnest as hell. "Barry Allen is my name. I left because I wasn't needed there. It means a lot more to offer light in the darkness then a place already full of it."

"And do you really believe that you can bring light to a place like this?" she pressed, still soft. "That's ambitious."

"I am ambitious, Sara," he said and smiled knowingly. "And I believe it's only a matter of time-- the children of this house aren't evil or rotten. The daughter is just a child, no darkness in her that's not been forced there. And the son is... there's so much light in him, though he'd deny it." 

Sara nodded. "It's a hard thing to see light when you've lived so long in the darkness. Would you help me help them, Barry?"

"Just tell me how." And she knew she had another ally.

When she spoke with the innkeeper later she was sure of it.

/

But first there was the business she had been called on for by Lewis. It would only be put off so long.

The Darbyinian Lord was another of the same cut as Lewis. He welcomed Sara to his home, when she came gowned as a simple traveler, wearing a black wig and a simple glamour that turned her eyes dark and her skin a shade of olive. 

"I have a message for you," she told him. "From Lord Snart. He asked me to deliver it in person." She leaned forward, angling her body so that the line of her breasts was visible. Inviting his eyes.

"You're very pretty," he told her frankly, looking her body up and down. "And you come from Snart? He gives the best gifts." She didn't let herself show emotion at the implication that there'd been others who'd come offering themselves. That it raised no suspicion.

That could mean anything. A different girl. It didn't mean he'd had Leonard.

Sara killed Lord Darbyinian in his chamber, with the curtains drawn around his bed. Pinned his hands to the bed with knives and covered his mouth while he gasped for air, suffocating under her hand. His eyes bulged and he thrashed helplessly.

"Did you touch him?" she whispered, pulling back from the brink just for a moment. "Did you put your hands on Snart's son?"

He gasped and moaned and pleaded with his eyes. He couldn't make words.

She sighed. "Confess," she told him, "and beg my mercy."

He whimpered, shook his head. Made the word, "mercy," with his mouth, soundlessly.

"He never begged you, I know," she hissed, frustrated.

She couldn't wait to press him more, they wouldn't be alone long enough. She settled for carving open his throat, a quick death. On impulse, she cut off his cock too, after and left it on his pillow, a macabre diversion. She wasn't, couldn't be sure, if he'd done what she suspected, so she waited until he was already dead to do it.

"Shouldn't have touched what didn't want you," she told the corpse.

/

Sara snuck into the castle instead of through the front gate. She went through the Lady Lisa's wing first. The child was sleeping, curled under her blankets.

She wondered if she'd already been born when her brother tried to flee with the man who would become Chronos all those years ago, but somehow she didn't think so. The timing would have been right for Snart's wife to have been pregnant, but likely not delivered. Didn't think Chronos had ever seen her.

Sara was startled when the girl's eyes opened and fixed on her. They were a soft brown, warmer than her brother's blue.

"Are you here to kill me, Ta-er al-Usfar?" She whispered, soft, not to wake the sleeping woman beside her. Even though the color was different there was a frankness to her stare and a tilt to her chin that was so like her brother's.

"Not anymore," Sara told her, honestly. "Let's say… I'm here to find out what's worth saving in this place."

Lisa sat up and rubbed her eyes, looking all at once like the child she was. Her hair was long and soft, brushed to gleaming. "He is," she said, child fierce. "My brother is and you know it. You watch him and he watches you."

Sara closed her eyes and shook her head. "I can't save him without your help, Lady Lisa," Sara said.

"I understand," the girl replied solemnly. "He protected everyone he could. Now it's our turn."

"Your father won't hesitate to harm you, if you are caught. Being his blood might spare your life, but…" but look at what had happened to Leonard. He'd been older then, but not so much.

Lisa yawned heavily and sighed. Then her eyes sharpened and for a moment, she looked nothing like a child. "Tell me what to do, Ta-er al-Usfar, and I'll do it. But I'm grandfather's blood too-- cross me and I'll remember. Always."

/

It was dark in her room, when she heard the movement, careful and quiet. She was awake instantly, fingers on the knife under her pillow. 

"Give me one good reason not to kill you," she told the intruder.

There was a snort, cynical and familiar, "my life is yours if you want it, Sara, go ahead," and she sighed and lowered the blade.

"Hello, Leonard," she said and shifted over so that he could sit down beside her on the bed. He smelled faintly of wine and smoke. "Be a little louder next time and I'll be less startled." 

"Habit," he replied softly. He didn't move closer to her, just out of touching range, but she could feel his warmth.

"What brings you here?" she asked. "I thought you were being watched."

"Not right now," he said. He held utterly still for a moment. She shifted to move closer and he inched away. "I'm sorry, can we just talk?"

She stopped and nodded, even though he likely couldn't see the gesture. "What about?"

"You've been busy. Barry likes you. He thinks you're here to be a hero."

"I'm no hero," Sara scoffed. "I kill for a living."

Leonard shrugged. "No, but that's Barry for you." He paused for a moment. "You spoke to Lisa. I don't want you to do that. She needs to not be involved. This was a mistake, even talking about this. We need to stop."

"She's involved already, like or loathe it," Sara said, calm as she could. "And I won't be stopped."

He sighed, though his voice didn't get louder. "She's a child. Do you understand what he could do to her? If he even has an inkling that she knows?" 

She sighed and didn't tell him that his sister was no more a child than she had to be. He must already know. "You wanted her to have these lands, Leonard, and soon. She can't be an ignorant child and do what needs to be done."

"I was caught up in the moment. I told you, we need to stop." He made a noise, soft and tired. "Sara. He's killed children before. She's his daughter, but we know what he's capable of doing to his own blood." She reached out to touch him and he flinched away.

"Leonard. She wants desperately to save you."

"Then tell her I'm past saving," he hissed. Then softer, more rushed, words jostling out of him, "you don't know, Sara. I can tell you, but you can't know what it was like. The people who tried to help me, who were nothing but generous to me, you don't know what happened to them and to their children. What it smelled like, what it sounded like. So don't tell me we can't stop." 

"And maybe this isn't just about you. Can I tell you what I've learned, walking this land?" she asked.

"Right. Tell me more about my own country," he snorted, rolling away a little more. She breathed in and let him.

She wasn't the Arrow. Wasn't a politician, an orator, but she had to tell him. Had to make him see what she did. "Anyone can see this land has a harsh master, and an unskilled one. Look at the town, Leonard, the fields, the crops that are grown and the trade done here-- then compare it to the Wests down over the hill."

He made a frustrated noise. "That's nothing to do with me. I mean, there's nothing I'm in a position to-- he doesn't exactly listen to my advice."

"And that's known. That he doesn't." She offered him her hand, but he didn't take it, so she let it fall back into her lap. "Leonard. People are watching their children go without, be pinched with hunger. They look at you and they see the worst that could happen-- and also a better way forward. They love you in the town and the fields, did you know that?" She shifted up and watched him do the same, still a shadowy figure in the dark.

"That makes no sense," but his voice was softer now. And he was still here. Still listening. "I haven't been-- I've barely left this castle in ten years. Whatever they think they want, they shouldn't want it in my name." 

"Like it or not, you're a symbol of everything horrible that's happened. And they're angry and the anger hasn't faded in ten years. It represents every other slight they've suffered. They're seething with it now."

"I don't believe you," he said, clear and true.

"Of course not, you're too isolated here to see it." And too used to seeing yourself as what Lewis tried to make you, she thought but didn't say. "Let me show you."

He shook his head. "I won't. It doesn't matter, I won't lead anyone to their deaths. I can't even fight worth a damn with one hand."

She leaned forward then and whispered to him, very gently. "That's a problem with a solution. Barry told me to tell you that the artificer built something for you, my Lord Cold."

He sucked in a breath. "I don't know what you mean."

She smiled, even though he couldn't see. He'd hear it in her voice. "Something just for your hand. Come and see it and then tell me you can't fight."

He exhaled noisily. And that… he wanted that, she could tell by the way his voice quickened. "Tell me," he said, and finally, finally, drew closer to her. "Sara. Tell me what you mean."

"Wait and see. And then tell me if I've earned a kiss from you." She touched his hand and he let her, palm to palm.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Chronos is haunted by ghosts. 
> 
> Leonard makes peace with Cisco. 
> 
> Leonard and Sara continue putting their plan on motion with a little highwayman action and thoroughly enjoy it. And Sara finally shares some of her history. But she has a terrible confession she needs to make...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains: vague discussions of past non con, similar to past chapters.
> 
> Murder and highway robbery.

Two months ago

In the far south, Chronos sat down with the chiefs of the people. An alliance with the old King's son would change many things but it wouldn't make the kingdom burn.

"There's wealth in it," said the old man of the Blood clan. "We can come in when the Arrow invites us, that doesn't mean we have to stay under his command. Once we enter the kingdom we can burn as we please."

A woman from the far south, the green lands beyond the desert frowned, "there's no honor in that. My clan are warriors, not liars or traitors."

There were nods and grumbles around the fire, showing that many agreed with her. And Chronos nodded.

Later, he took private counsel with her and said, "Amaya, have you heard of a power that can bring back the dead?"

And she nodded her head and her eyes gleamed. "I have. But nothing good could come of that."

"The Arrow's man said the same thing," he growled in frustration.

"You wish to bring back your family," she said, with a surprising gentleness. And then she did something rare, something no one had done since everyone he loved had burned. She touched his arm with the same kindness that echoed in her voice. "They wouldn't be the same if you did. There's a madness that comes with being brought back. A bloodlust."

He shrugged. But didn't shrug off her hand. "I have madness and bloodlust. We'd understand each other."

She sighed and said, "but them? Your parents, your sisters?"

"I don't know," he muttered. "Doesn't matter anyway. They burned. If their bodies can't be found, the magic won't work I was told." And they wouldn't have wanted that would they? To be maddened creatures of death. Like he was. 

Amaya gave him another of her gentle looks. The kind where you'd forget what she really was, a warrior who could tear a body apart. But not mad with it.

"Your lover, then? Could you find his body? He'd want this for you?"

"I don't know if he's buried but they didn't burn him," he told her, with a far away look in his eyes. "I only know he's dead because he haunts me."

With those words, Chronos shrugged her off finally, but not roughly. She stayed close, listening. "I can see him sometimes, like he's right here. Like he's real. He tells me he wants revenge on Lewis, wants me to destroy everything Lewis had. That I need to destroy him and make the whole world burn." He stared off into the distance as if seeing something there. A boy just out of reach in the distance, turning to look at him, blue eyed and lanky with youth, with a small, familiar smile. A blink and the boy was gone and instead it was a specter, a revenant, naked and covered with his own blood, screaming at him. "He tells me that we'll be together again when it does."

"So. You're haunted," she said and she drew back a little. "You don't need to be, you don't need to raise the dead to be free. The shamans can help you. You can be released."

Chronos shook his head. "I've already seen them. Dalton said there was nothing to be done."

She made a small motion of distaste. "There are other shamans. I might be able to help you myself if you let me."

For a moment he almost considered it. "You don't understand. I don't want him gone. He makes me strong, reminds me what's important. I… I want him with me."

"And if the Arrow brings him back? And he's not the same?" She asked.

"He will be. I know he wants death. And he'll tell me what to do next to get it, won't he?" He asked her like it was a real question and he thought she knew the answer.

/  
Now

 

Lord Snart looked more than pleased about the Darbyinian job. "I could offer another commission, if you were interested," he told her, smooth and eager. 

She smiled at him. "If the pay is right," she told him. "Tell me the job."

So he did, smirking about it. 

"That's no easy task," she said when he was done. "Nor an inexpensive one."

He grinned and said, "Name a price."

She named one, in gold. 

He smiled at her and said, "anything else?"

She made herself shrug, as if indifferent, as if it didn't matter at all. "Well, if you're offering. How about for as long as I'm here?"

And she hated what he so obviously thought she was when he winked at her. It was all she could do not to end the game early by striking Lord Snart down.

But it would be worth it, to have Leonard where she could keep an eye on him. Keep him close. Keep him.

And this was where she could admit it to herself. She was in so far over her head and taking on more water. Because once he knew everything she could very well lose him.

 

In the early hours of the morning, Sara penned a coded message to the League and sent it by carrier: 'situation unexpectedly complex. More time required'

The man who'd hired her had wanted death, nothing but death. But if he knew what she did, she hoped that would change. If not things could become unfortunate. Even more than they already were.

After thinking for a moment, she penned another note, this time in a personal code, one only one other person had the tools to read.

'Beloved. I don't feel dead anymore.''

 

/

"Cisco really doesn't like me," Leonard said, almost casually, as they waited in the entryway of the artificer's smithy.

"You've said that before," Sara replied. "Why is that?"

He made a face and looked away for a moment. Took a deep breath. "Plenty of reasons. Mostly because Mick and I broke his brother's hands in order to convince him to make us a pair of crossbows."

She blinked. "Oh," she settled for saying.

Len closed his eyes. "I offered to buy them and he said no. Said he wouldn't make a thing for Lewis' thugs. That made me angry. So I proved him exactly right about what a thug I was." He forced a shrug. "Think about that when you tell me people love me."

"How old were you?" She asked softly.

"Fifteen," someone said, as they stepped into the room, but it wasn't Leonard. A dark haired, dark eyed young man in a simple open necked shirt and a leather smock walked in. "And a cold arrogant asshole. Dante's hands healed a long time ago and I'm over it. He sure is."

"Really? Some brother you are, Cisco," Leonard said, just as casually. His eyes were narrowed, flesh hand curled up at his side.

"Well, he got his revenge on you assholes, Snart," Cisco said and nodded at the wooden hand at Leonard's other side. "And oh yeah, Rory's parents and a bunch of totally innocent kids who burned alive. You remember them- the ones you cut off your hand to try and save?"

Leonard's mouth twisted. "It was ten years ago. I'm over it, just like you are."

"What happened?" Sara asked softly, uncertain. They both turned to stare at her like they'd half forgotten she was there.

Leonard just shook his head. Cisco shrugged. The words when they came were more tired than bitter. "What he's not telling you, because he likes making himself look bad, is that Dante was the one who told Lewis' bully boys where to find them when they ran for it," Cisco said looking right at Leonard. "So think about that when you tell me why I'm not allowed to be over it."

"I don't need your pity," Leonard said shortly. "And the dead don't give a shit what someone tried to do and failed at. They're dead."

Cisco rolled his eyes. "Good thing I have something better for you than pity. Come on and see it?"

They followed him into his workshop. On the table was what looked like a crossbow, with the icy smell of magic clinging close. Leonard looked from it to Cisco, wide eyed.

"You can arm and fire it one handed. That's the point," he said, smiling a little. "I'll show you the spellwork. You'll love the mechanical part."

"You… actually made this for me?" Leonard said, like he wasn't here because he'd been told exactly that. Like it still made no sense.

"Of course, now stop drooling over it and try it out."

So Leonard picked it up, pointed where Cisco indicated and shot it. Sara almost jumped out of her skin because it was no crossbow bolt that spat out.

"Is that-- is that ice?" She said, awestruck. When the bolt hit the target, it froze over instantly. 

Leonard stared from it back to Cisco and then at it. "I'm not sure what to say."

"Try thank you, Cisco, for being that awesome?"

Leonard laughed, and then gamely repeated the words. 

"And now you really are my Lord Cold," Sara said and they both grinned at her.

"Lord Cold. I like that, Sara," Cisco said. "Now, come on, Cold. Let's do something about that hand."

Leonard shrugged. "It's not like it's growing back."

"Well no, but we can do better than that wooden piece of shit. Let me build you something you can use."

Later, when Leonard was busy playing with the cold device, freezing half the wall, Sara leaned over to Cisco. "How long have you had that for him, really?"

And he flushed and shrugged. "I started working on it when we knew he wasn't going to die. Took a while to get it right and then I just never had the guts to give it to him. So thank you, Sara."

"You're welcome," Sara said and smirked right at him.

She felt rewarded later when Leonard pressed her up against the wall of her room and kissed her, open mouthed and breathless, real hand and false both framing her face. He tasted like ice and the sharp scent of artificial magic. It felt different than the kisses he'd offered before.

Less of an offer to be what she wanted, more of him. Real and sharp with his own hunger for her.

"There you are, Lady Death," he murmured. "Your kiss."

"Don't worry, Cold, I plan to earn many more." And the genuine grin that earned her wasn't bad either.

/

It was easier and harder to have him walk into her room with her at the end of the night without bothering to look over his shoulder. To know it was permitted. Lewis paid off, at least for now. That she had to have permission to have him.

The thought should have put her off sex, but didn't, because he was still there, careful, beautiful blue eyes watching her. 

And when she put her hand on his shoulder after sex and said, "stay. Please stay." He sighed a soft breath and let himself slip back down into her bed.

She learned he slept poorly, but then so did she. Nightmare ravaged, both of them. 

He was good company after her nightmares, distracting. Easy with a dice game or chess, or once, reading out loud to her while he stroked her hair until she fell asleep. The first a common accomplishment in a Lord's son and the second less so.

She wished she could return the favor but he couldn't be touched after his own nightmares could barely be spoken to. Huddled in on himself like a young child and utterly silent, flinching from her hands. It made her rage and she knew that didn't help him, that her anger was visible to him, and it didn't matter that it was for him not at him. But she couldn't seem to stop.

 

"Do you know Lord Mardon?" she asked him, two mornings in which made him shrug and frown.

"A bit. He's a sorcerer of some reputation. Why?"

She sighed. "Decent man, is he?" That made it harder, when they were.

Leonard pursed his lips. "Ah. No, I wouldn't call him that. Lewis want him dead?"

It was her turn to shrug. "Apparently the younger brother does. He'd like to be Lord. And Lord Snart would like him in his debt when he is."

Leonard made a face and shook his head. "You mean the younger Mardon would like to appear blameless and grieving when his brother is slain and use it as an excuse to encroach on our lands when it's discovered Lewis hired the killer." He looked thoroughly disgusted.

Sara sighed. "Well, it may work to our advantage somehow. I've told him I need time to consider my approach."

Leonard frowned. "What are you thinking? Spill the truth to him and get him to send some soldiers? It would be too hard to get them to leave afterwards."

She rubbed the back of her neck and shook her head. "No. You're right. It's more important to have Lewis' men question their loyalty than bring in outsiders."

"Some loyalty. They only care about their pay. Wait," his eyes went wide and he looked at her. "They only care about their pay. What if… what if something happened to it." And then one of his genuine smiles came with the words.

And it felt so good to know exactly what he was thinking before he said it, to smile back. "Well when you have underfed small farmers, and poor townsfolk, that's when you get highwaymen. Unfortunate thing, highwaymen."

"Unfortunate? I'd say Death and Cold might make for very, very fortunate highwaymen." And he was grinning like this was the best thing that had happened to him in years.

 

Playing at highwaymen with Leonard turned out to be both more and less amusing than it sounded. He was a planner, obsessive over it. The tax collectors rounds were mapped and accounted for. Road conditions, visibility and the quality of the horses and wagons.

The guards who would be involved, who'd be drunk, who could be distracted or bought.

He made notations with a pen and scraped them off with a knife, wearing out quill after quill. 

"Need to do a test run," he muttered into his plans in obvious frustration. "At least one."

"You know that if you start leaving the grounds it will be noticed. I can manage once, but we're bound to be followed if it becomes a pattern," she said placatingly. 

"I am very aware," he ground out. "You'll need to do it without me. And take notes."

"Leonard," she said. "I will. And this… it's not for much longer."

"Feels like half my life. Because it almost has been." 

"I know," she said, gently as she could. "I will take notes and measurements and get back to you on the position of the sun, the state of the wagon wheels, whatever else you need. I do know how to do this kind of thing."

He groaned and shook his head. "Not much longer," he agreed.

She leaned over and kissed him, clean and on the lips and smiled when he blinked at her. "Let's do something more fun than this?" She offered.

He smiled to himself and nodded. It was easy enough, him on the chair, and her climbing on his lap, her knees spreading while she rocked herself on him. Convenient that she was wearing a skirt and his trousers were made to be opened one handed. The warmth of his body sank right through her.

She gasped when his hand slid under her dress, cupping her breast, while his mouth was warm on her neck.

He groaned when she ground her body against his cock and made a lower deeper sound when she let it slide into her, quick and dirty and perfect.

She was in so much danger.

 

After the trial run, she came back and said, "We're going to need masks. Something to cover up your hand to, it's too obvious. Or we could just kill the guards. Then we don't need to worry about that."

"We probably shouldn't do that," he said and grinned. "There's one I wouldn't mind killing but the other two are mostly just money grubbers."

She lifted an eyebrow. "The one? What did he do?"

Leonard rolled his eyes at her and tapped his fingers restlessly. "Maybe he owes me money? Don't gamble if you can't cover your debts."

"Sure," she said. But he just shrugged her off and smiled his vicious smile.

They only do kill the one. It's easy after all, contingencies planned for, a narrow spot in the road, well hidden from the trees.

Leonard's humming with adrenaline, dressed in leather and fur, grinning at her from under his mask with the cold winter sun reflected in his eyes. She barely felt the chill herself.

The crossbow works to design and he knocks off the guard, the one who'd been holding the horses, with an icy blast.

The horses scream and bolt and Sara jumps down from a tree into the wagon, perfectly balanced and catches the reigns.

The other two jump out, swords a ready and stare at the fallen, frozen body of their comrade. The were wide eyed, horrified by the statue made of ice and look around desperately for the culprit.

Leonard was ready. He stepped out from behind the tree, masked and covered in fur, looking for all the world like a wild man.

He grinned at them, crossbow at ready. They tightened their hands on their swords. "Time to make a choice, gentleman. Grab a bag of gold and make a run for some place far far away. Or…" he waved the bow. "Face a little cold. Choose wisely."

Then Sara tossed a throwing knife at the frozen guardsman. He shattered before their eyes.

They took the gold. Heavy bags, more than a year's pay each. And their lives.

"And now Lord Snart is down three men," Sara said laughing as the two stumbled off into the woods.

And Leonard looked at her, blue eyes blazing under his mask. "So he is."

They calmed the nervous horses and then he climbed up into the wagon beside her and she drove to the place they'd arranged. An old huntsman's lodge, long abandoned and half reclaimed by woods, but with a sound roof.

"Mick and I used to use it," Leonard had said, when she told him about it, and smiled a little to hear it was still there.

"That. Was amazing," he said now. Still laughing as he pulled off his mask and watched her take off hers.

It was not a surprise when he kissed her, still shaking with euphoria. She kissed back, fingernails digging into his back and they had each other there, like children, kissing and touching, grinding together, in all their clothes and leathers.

Again after, his hand tugging impatiently on her tunic. Hers down his pants. 

They rutted together until they were past the point of coming, past the adrenaline, empty and shaking, exhausted, wrung dry.

Maybe they slept a bit. She did.

When she woke he lay next to her on the dirty, cold floor of the lodge, surrounded by the tax collectors take, and touched the scars on her bare back. A gentle hand, rubbing back and forth. 

"You know all my awful, sickening secrets. All I know about you is that you can kill like you breathe, you have scars and that you can't sleep."

She looked up at him, to see if he was teasing, but there was a seriousness in his eyes. And she did owe him answers, far more than he knew. "You know that I died and it didn't take. What else do you want to know? Ask me and if I can, I'll tell you."

"Who is Sara Lance? How did you come to be Ta-er al-Usfar?"

She closed her eyes. Opened them. Shook her head. Let the words try to take shape. Who is Sara Lance again? Someone different than she'd been before she came to this place. Maybe better? "I don't know where to begin. I was born in the capital. My father was one of the city guardsmen. Still is, last I heard. My mother was-- is a scholar. I have an older sister, Laurel. She was clever, she was always very, very clever. And very, very beautiful. So she was sent to the university, and there, she caught the eye of the prince. Old King Robert's son."

"The prince who vanished?" He nodded, as if to himself. "Sounds hard."

"Don't mock me, Leonard. I know I had a wonderful childhood," she snapped.

He raised a defensive hand. "I'm actually not. I asked you your story, and you start by telling me hers. You love her. You don't want to be jealous. You are."

She sighed. Slumped down because he was right and she hadn't even thought this would be the hard part of her story. "I was. Am. Jealous. He-- the prince. His name was Oliver. And he was handsome and beloved and spoiled. And he could be cruel in the way children are. But he was also very kind when he wanted to be. And he loved her, and I-- I wanted him." 

He tilted his head, interested, inviting more. "I remember this, a little. Hearing the story-- Laurel Lance-- the priestess? They said the old King invested her with a noble title. Everyone expected a betrothal to follow."

Sara nodded. "She was created a duchess. And he-- Oliver-- realized that he was going to step into a grove, tie his hands with hers and swear to be true and he had never been true in his life. And he panicked and fled from her on a pleasure voyage with the King. And I wanted him. So I went with him."

Leonard drew in a breath, eyes wide. He hadn't expected this, but then who would? "You were on the Gambit when she sank. When the King and the Prince vanished."

"Through my own selfish stupidity, I was. And I paid for it, we all did. I can't tell you-- some of the secrets aren't mine to tell." She took a deep, shuddering breath. "I can tell you that we were shipwrecked and I was fished from the water. I spent two years on a slave ship before I was rescued. I was a-- before, I was-- no one had ever-- my father hardly raised his voice to me. And from that to a place where I was a thing to use."

She couldn't let her mind rest there. Tried to make the words just words, no images behind them. Tired to see him and no one else. It wasn't as hard as she expected it to be.

"I'm so sorry, Sara." And she could see in his eyes that he knew. That she didn't have to explain, to sketch out details and nightmares of what had happened. He knew, deeply, viscerally. And she wished he didn't.

"I can't speak of-- I don't want to remember. You understand, don't you?"

He sighed. His hand, the real one, twitched next to him. He'd probably be squeezing that ball he always carried if he had it. "I. Yes. I understand."

And then there was Nyssa. And her she could imagine, rest her mind on. "And then I was rescued and she was... she was beautiful. She would have been beautiful even if she hadn't been taking me out of hell, but she was. She did. She made me safe and she made me strong and she taught me how to fight. She told me that I was not just what happened to me, that I was still beloved. And she made me believe that."

Sara wondered if she could be that to him. If it wasn't too late.

"She was an Assassin, wasn't she?" he asked thoughtfully.

"She was. Is. She is. I thought Nyssa was going to be my beloved, true til death. All of that epic poet's shit. We never swore our vows, but I felt as though I had."

"What happened?"

"I kept my promise. I was true til death. And then I died. I will tell you more, I swear. I just-- not now. But-- you understand? Just that my body was alive again for a long time before the rest of me followed and it was terrible. Our... our love didn't survive it."

He nodded and suddenly, like on an impulse, pushed himself up and wrapped his arms around her. They were strong and steady and careful, like he was. "Oh Sara. I had my epic poet's shit love, though I didn't see it that way at the time. Epic stories make horrible lives."

She gave him a watery smile. "Well, that's the epic part. What about the love part?"

His eyes went distant, vaguer. He drew back a little, hand slipping off her shoulder and reaching down instead to grip her fingers. 

She wondered if she looked like that, talking about Nyssa. The real smile, the sadness, the desperate fondness. Something lost and out of reach forever. "Yeah. Well, that part was pretty great. He was my best friend first, when I was a skinny, nasty boy who was too proud and too ruined for other people to even get near. And he stood up for me, he always stood up for me. He was my first and I told him he'd be my last, the only one. Swore the vow, bound our hands together in a grove with a priest we'd badgered into it, the whole thing. And I meant every word."

"I'm sorry it didn't happen that way," Sara said and held onto his hand. Except he didn't know. Leonard didn't know that he still had a chance. 

Though that wasn't what he'd meant, because then he said, "you know that it wasn't my-- it wasn't my choice. To break my vow. Lewis had a twisted sense of irony." His mouth twisted and he looked down at their joined hands.

"He knew. Lewis? That you'd sworn the vow?" She didn't know if that made it better or-- no, it made it worse. So much worse.

His smile was so bitter and bleak, the hurt so deep, deep as the fondness, the longing, when he talked about Mick. Maybe deeper. "I spat it in his face. I was proud of it, Sara. How I was going to be true, steadfast, how not like him that made me. Lewis-- he always had women-- fucked them in my stepmother's bed while she was pregnant. He said-- you shouldn't swear vows you can't keep. So they brought Mick out and they made him watch me break it."

"Gods above... no wonder..." No wonder the boy that Leonard described, the fierce and strong one, the one who had always followed him, always stood up for him, turned into the thing that menaced the southern borders. He'd lost everything and seen that happen to the person he loved. And thought he died.

And Leonard didn't know. And he was going to find out. That the boy he'd sworn his vow to wasn't dead, wasn't lost, hadn't forgotten him. 

And he was talking, looking at her, smiling almost ruefully. And if she didn't tell him, he'd still find out and know she'd lied. "So that was my epic love. I'm good with the ordinary kind. Sara, I--" 

And she had to, she had to, before he said what couldn't be unsaid. "Please. Wait. You didn't ask me who hired me. To come here. What I was actually hired to do. You've never asked me that. To be totally honest... I didn't know, at first, who it was and how he was tied to you."

"Sara " He took a deep breath. "I have a guess. What you were actually hired to do at least. And it's fine. You didn't do it."

"Can you just listen?" She said. And he nodded and went still.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sara confesses. 
> 
> The plot against Lewis comes to an abrupt, unexpected fruition. Little Lisa takes charge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains: violent murder

It was harder to say than she imagined. The words caught in her throat. I betrayed you. I came to you with death in my mind. I hid the truth.

He waited too, until the silence stretched and stretched before he said, "listen. I know your commission wasn't just to take out Lewis. He'd be long dead if it was, I've seen you work. It was us too? Wasn't it? Me and Lisa? Undermining our house?"

She hadn't even known if she should tell him that part. Even now. She swallowed. He'd had her vulnerable and asleep in bed. He could have, even one handed, without the weapon, he could have stopped her. "You thought that, but you let me live?" 

He shrugged narrowly. He looked tired, mostly, like he'd somehow thought they could skip this whole conversation and was annoyed they couldn't. Not remotely as angry as he should be. "You wanted me. My best chance was to see if I could get you on my side. Even if I killed you, assuming I could, they'd just send someone else."

That hurt too, though she had no right to feel pain. That it had been colder on his part than she knew.

She thought for a moment and steeled herself. Said, "and. Do you know who sent me?"

He just shrugged. His hand had the restless energy in it, the one she was starting to realize was pure nerve. What would have been fear in someone else. "Lewis has plenty of enemies. The Santinis? The Wests? No, they wouldn't send an assassin, and not for a child." Stopped. "You're really upset about this. It's not them, is it?"

She touched his face again, looking him in the eye. "It was a man who gave his name to the League as Rory," she said. "I learned later that he now was called Chronos." 

For a moment he just looked utterly bewildered like he didn't understand what she meant. Shook his head and mouthed the name. And then, there it was, the expression on his face, the shock, the stillness, the way it broke. Anguish, uncontrolled.

"He's alive?" he whispered, eyes still so wide. He shook his head again, pushed his hand against it. Away from her. "I thought-- but, Sara, I thought-- he was so badly burned when I last saw him. And he never came back, I thought he was dead. Or-- or he blamed me." He swallowed hard and the misery in his eyes made her flinch. "Is that why-- does he blame me?"

"No, no, no," she said to quickly, a frantic shake of her own head. "For what it's worth, he thinks you are dead. He wanted this for you, in your name because he thought you were dead."

That didn't help. There was nothing in his expression that showed that helped in any way. "But. He asked you to kill Lisa. My Mick hired you-you- to kill Lisa, my Lisa. My baby sister. In my name." 

She swallowed. Reached for him. He skittered back, toward the wall. They both flinched.

Words instead. "Not specifically. He just knew that your stepmother was pregnant when you-- died. He hired me to wipe out your father's line and then bring Lewis to him." Burn them all, he'd said, bring their enemies to the gates, make sure he knows he'll leave nothing behind. And she'd felt moved by the rage and the grief that poured out of him and the League had given her instructions.

And that wasn't what Leonard saw. He saw his sister, a girl of ten, dead like the Rory children had died. And everyone else who would suffer.

"But it would be a child, a baby," he said, hugging himself, thick with disbelief. "His line. It would be my sister or my brother. My baby."

She sighed. Her hands twitched to hold him but he wouldn't let her near. "His grief was so powerful, like it had happened to him yesterday. He's not the boy you knew." 

He looked up at her, out of his fog. "Are you- is that a joke? I'm not the boy he knew. I would have been glad to die, if he wanted to kill me. But her-- I sat in her nursery, on the floor by the cradle."

And that was too painfully easy to imagine, him as a boy, damaged beyond comprehension, coming from his sickbed to curl up by an infant's cradle. 

How he must hate her. "And what about me?" Sara asked suddenly. 

"What about you?" he asked, frowning, surprised by the question. Like everything she'd been so afraid of meant nothing to him.

"I came here to kill," she said, like it wasn't obvious. Killer. Liar. Thief of what wasn't hers.

There was that shrug again. An honest one. "You didn't. You came into a situation, assessed it, and then chose a side. Call me cold, but I call that wisdom."

She wondered if it was that easy. To let it go. It couldn't be. "Yet you came to my bed knowing that I might still do it. Kill her."

Another impatient gesture, sharp and quick. "Like I said -- not a lot of plays for me to make. Being in your bed was the best chance of avoiding that outcome."

"Not very flattering to me is that? Having to be seduced out of murdering a ten year old girl?"

He made a noise and rolled his eyes. "Do you need me to flatter you, Sara? Do you expiate your sins like that?"

"I didn't say that," she whispered. Drew back a little herself.

He sighed. Finally made himself uncurl. Shift a little closer. Not close enough to touch her, despite the words he said. "Fine. You're beautiful and powerful and I wanted you. Want you. And if I hadn't, you'd have smelled it on me and never touched me at all."

"You don't know that." She wanted it to be true. It felt like it was. 

He smiled, just with the edges of his mouth. "Actually, I do. My judgement is good." Frowned and shook his head. 

"You don't know that," she repeated. "I'm a killer, Leonard. I could have killed her and never looked back."

"I don't believe that," he said. "And I hope I never do." But he didn't touch her. "Can you stop now? You feel guilty about this. I get it. It doesn't help."

They didn't touch at all when they crept back into town under the cover of darkness. He held himself apart, quiet, just a few steps out of reach.

There was a near miss, with a kitchen maid, as they came in a back window, but her eyes went wide and a little worshipful when she saw Leonard and she gave a little curtsey. 

"No fear, milord," she whispered. "We're all with you. I ain't seen a thing tonight."

And that made Leonard give the girl a bemused smile, and a murmured, "thank you, Lizzy, I hope your mother is well?"

"Sick but getting on, thank you for asking after her," the girl whispered. "You just say the word and we're here," and ran off.

It was working, Sara thought then. The whispers she'd been sowing, the stories that Nathaniel Heywood told in the square, the guidance from Barry Allen. People were remembering. Thinking that they'd all suffered enough.

And when the guards didn't get paid things would move along nicely.

 

It wasn't just Lizzy from the kitchen. The first time she'd seen Leonard, only a month ago, he'd been utterly isolated. Sprawled out at the edge of the room, no one speaking to him, speaking to no one. 

Now they slipped in next to him to say a quiet word. Gently, nervously. Someone caught a door for him when he struggled with his hand.  
A little girl pressed a flower at him, a little boy asked him to kick a ball in the yard. A merchant woman who'd been petitioning on tax relief, talked to him about trade routes.

He accepted this with increasing bewilderment. Almost fear when they got to close to him. He knew them, or most of them, but it was like he was visible to them again for the first time in years.

And always a whispered, "We're with you, milord."

Sara hung back a little. Watching, waiting. He said he wasn't angry at her, but he also didn't touch her. Curled up on the big armchair by the window with a book and not in bed when he slept, which was rarely and poorly.

"It's not you," he said. "It's not that. I just can't, people keep touching me. I just can't with anyone else."

If she even hinted around what she'd said, what they'd talked about in the hunting lodge. Mick. He got irritated immediately. 

"I don't know. Can we get this done first, Sara?" Or, "I don't really need to hear anymore about how bad this makes you feel, Sara. I get it. I'm over it. You're forgiven. Stop."

He wasn't avoiding her. He'd talk about other things, frenetically and at great length. About taxes, farming techniques, trade routes and how and where a really talented highway robber could get their way. He'd play chess or checkers, dice in a corridor.

He just ducked away from any potential contact of skin on skin like his life depended on it.

Spent time closeted with Barry and Cisco, something about the artificial hand Cisco was building. She spent time with Heywood, talking legal precedent and succession to the noble house. Leonard wasn't wrong, the laws required someone whole of body. 

She started to think she'd need to plan the Mardon job, just to buy time in case Lewis got restless.

 

The end came very quickly and unplanned.

Sara was surprised when a young looking servant boy she only vaguely recognized came to her when she was getting out of the bath. Burst in more like and then stared and blushed.

"Forgive me, mistress," he whispered and looked down at the floor. She smiled and reached for her shirt. He was practically quivering with anxiety.

"You're in a hurry, child. What is it?" She said making her voice calm.

"It's… mistress, I beg you, I don't know if you care to… to help if you can?" He stumbled over the words. "It's only, I'm so sorry, it was my fault."

Sara frowned and stepped closer to the boy. He had a mark on his cheek that she'd taken for a blush at first. "Did someone hit you?" she asked as gently as she could.

He frantically jerked his head. "Was my fault, I fell and the wine spilled. And the Lord did give me a smack. But then he-he had this look in his eye and I shouted out-- shouldn't have done that." He stared at her. "The young lady Lisa, she came and told him to stop."

Something in her gut went cold.

"What happened?" She asked, calm as she could.

"He, oh mistress, he hit her something awful and she screamed out and the young Lord heard. Please will you come?"

She was running after him in a moment, barefoot and fastening her trousers, knife in her free hand, her blood thumping in her temples.

She heard the sound of a child sobbing from the corridor, loud and confused. The yelling.

It was Lord Snart's sitting room, small and defensible. If she killed him, she could hold off the guards for a while. If the guards came at all.

It took her a moment to realize that Lisa crying was the only real sound she could hear now, the yelling gone. The fear and rage in her belly twisted and she knew if he was hurt, if he was dead, if he was…

Leonard was kneeling in the middle of the room with a blank stare, holding a broken off knife in one hand with the wooden one patting awkwardly Lisa's back while she wept. He was covered in blood, all over his face, his arms, his body. Blood and viscera, like someone had been gutted.

It was only experience with gutting that let her breathe, recognize the splatter patterns for what they were. He'd been the one who'd wielded the knife in his hand.

Lisa, huddled next to him, had the clear beginning of a black eye and her nose was bleeding but she looked otherwise unharmed. There was barely any blood on her, like she'd come closer after.

Lewis Snart's corpse lay broken on the ground. Or maybe he was still breathing, it was hard to tell. Someone-- Leonard-- had opened him up from his belly to his groin. Hard and deep, guts spilling out, butcher's work.

"This wasn't the plan," came out of Sara's mouth.

"Sorry," Leonard said shortly, quietly. "I threw away the plan." And it was a relief to hear him speak at all.

She ran up to him, still holding her own weapon, and hugged him hard and mindless where he knelt. He blinked and tolerated it better than he had any touch since the hunting lodge. 

Finally mumbled a, "Sara, you're getting covered in blood and… meat." But he let the knife in his hand drop so he could hug her back one armed.

And she just shook her head and held on harder and said, "are you hurt anywhere? I can't tell if he got you anywhere." 

Before he answered, there was the sound of boots running on stone and then Barry Allen, with two guardsmen at his back, came barreling into the room.

They stopped abruptly, mouths wide in horror at what they saw. Leonard on his knees 

"You didn't need to do that," Barry said sounding as numb as Sara felt. "We had a plan."

And Lisa gave a pained little sniffle. Leonard just blinked. The blood on his skin was starting to cool.

The guardsmen stared at each other and then back at Barry. "Should we arrest him?" One asked in obvious confusion.

"If you think about, I'll make you look like Lewis," Sara hissed.

And then Lisa abruptly got up. There were still tears on her cheeks, long tracks of them. Her young face was bruised and swollen and there was something dazed in her eyes. But she stood and spoke.

"My father is dead," she said, with a shaky, fragile calm. "My brother is Lord now. Or if he's not, I am. And if I am, I need you to to stand down. All of you."

The guards stood down.

"We should call a council meeting," she said next. "And decide what to do next. We'll have the Bard from the capital who's been visiting-- Nathaniel Heywood-- he'll read the law and precedent for us. Barry, can you tell them? Tomorrow morning." She frowned and looked at the dead body. "And see if we can get someone to lay out the body properly for burial?"

"Yeah. That's a great idea, Lady Lisa," Barry said. He looked at Leonard who was still kneeling on the ground. Sara glared at him, daring him to say something else. He didn't.

"Sara, can you please take Lenny to get cleaned up?" Lisa asked.

"That's a very good idea," Sara said. "And you?"

"I'll collect the witnesses. And then I'm going to bathe also. Could you please call my governess?" Her voice wavered just a little over the past part. Then she turned and walked away.

Sara helped Leonard to his feet and over to the baths. He went with her, steps mechanical, one foot in front of the other. Held her hand a little too hard. 

There was already clean hot water and fresh clothing laid out, like the servants had seen. Of course they'd seen.

"We're with you, milord," gentle voices said.

A woman brought her a sponge go clean him with. Another, a young man, brought clean hot water to replace the first.

Only Sara touched him. The glamour he had was mostly worn out and the sickening scars underneath it and the filth were visible as she cleaned him. 

At least he wasn't bleeding himself.

"Sorry, Sara," he said after what felt like forever, when she urged him up and into a warm towel. "I shouldn't have done that."

And she hugged him hard and reached up to draw him into a soft, closed mouthed kiss. "It was a long time coming. It will be fine."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Intrigue and politics happen. This part ends the first arc of the story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains: nothing that's not covered in the tags. Really just the aftermath of the last chapter.

In the South, Amaya Jiwe watched her leader and her worry began to grow. He was haunted indeed. He always had been, but now the haunting was growing more malevolent by the day.

"If I join with the Arrow, he will send a man to find where they buried Leonard," Chronos told her, with an impassive stare. "And bring him back. Or so he says."

"That's what you wish for, is it not?" Amaya asked.

"He won't give me Lewis Snart. Insists that there must be a trial and King's justice. It's not good enough." Chronos spat. "Where was justice for us?"

She frowned, "it's here. You're being offered it right now."

"It's not enough," he growled. "He killed my sisters. He killed my family, Amaya. I need to make him pay. I need him to lose everything. Thinking of that is the only reason I'm alive."

She nodded, drawing back, thinking. "So refuse the Arrow if he won't give you what want? Take your vengeance yourself?"

"But what if he can really bring back Len?" The grief cut through the rage for just a moment. "Amaya, he didn't deserve to die."

She nodded. "So then you need to think of a different plan."

Chronos sighed. "Leonard would have had ten plans by now."

"He's ten years dead, my friend," Amaya said, the gentleness back in her voice. "You have come very far regardless. But it so happens I have an idea."

And she told him. And he nodded all slowly. "It's not as good as killing that worthless scum myself, or… if he could… watching Leonard kill him," he said. But he was listening to her.

"Do you see him now?" She asked.

Chronos smiled. Then tilted his head as if listening to someone who wasn't speaking. "Yes. He says we should do it. But we shouldn't have him killed, but captured."

 

Chronos met with the masked representative of the League of Assassins and for the first time in many years, gave his name as Rory. After all, if Len the ghost heard him, that would probably be the name he was listening for.

"Ruin everything you can. Kill his children. Screw up his trade deals. If you can arrange an invasion and put salt on the farm land, that would be better," he told the woman. Even masked, it was obvious in her voice and her body. "But don't kill him. Bring him here, I want to take my time."

"I'm mostly retired," she said. "And that sounds like a long term project."

"I didn't know the League was a position you could retire from," he said. "Heard it was more of a til death gig."

She smiled under her mask, the fabric bunching a little. "Well, I was dead for a year. That changes things a little." 

He frowned but didn't react much otherwise. Still, there was a catch in his voice. "So it is possible. What if you had been dead for ten years? Could they have brought you back then?"

She shrugged and shook her head. "Maybe they could have, but they shouldn't have. It didn't leave me... sound minded. You're right that the League doesn't usually let its people go their own way if they are able."

"Don't play with words. Tell me what that means, sound minded," Chronos growled. 

"I was a beast. It means that all I could or wanted to do was kill. Everything around me. I had to be chained for everyone's safety."

Chronos thought for a moment and then he laughed. And laughed. "Fine. Then bring Lord Snart to me. I'll save him for the beast."

 

/

Now

 

"I killed him," Leonard said when he drew back from Sara's embrace. "I killed my father. I did. I slaughtered him."

"I know," she said and touched his shoulder and thought about what Rory had said to her. Save him for the beast. Well she'd done that at least.

"I thought I would feel-- all I could feel was frustrated that the knife wasn't sharp enough and I had to drag it," his eyes were open and on her but they didn't seem to take her in, not really. 

"Did he deserve more from you than that?" Sara asked, but he still didn't seem to hear her 

"She's just a little girl," he said, to someone, probably himself. "She doesn't have a mother or a father now. I should have-- what should I have done? What should I feel?"

"You should go to bed. You need to sleep," Sara told him, gently as she could. "What's done is done."

"But Sara," he began. Stopped and stared down at his scrubbed clean hand. The wooden one was put aside, probably a loss. She had no idea how to begin to get it clean. "Is he really dead?"

She nodded. He made another soft, confused sound and then sighed and leaned against her. Warm, damp skin she could feel through the thin linen of his shirt. He was shaking still.

"He's dead. You'll see him buried. Now, Leonard, come on. It's time to go to bed." She drew his body close and he allowed it.

Allowed her to pull him into the bed they'd been sharing, the sheets clean and fresh. To draw blankets over him.

"Sleep," she told him. "I'll keep watch."

Leonard did sleep, and in the bed they'd shared, though not peacefully. Huddled through it, brow wrinkled and tight, eyes twitching, body curled small. He didn't move or make any noise and Sara's learned better than to try to touch him.

She didn't sleep, her turn to stay awake by candlelight, watching him. He was beautiful, the lines of face and body, even like this, exhausted and battered, eyes closed. This man who launched Chronos like a ballista across the South and hadn't even known he'd done it.

She watched and waited and planned contingencies the way he would if he weren't felled by this. If they'd have to fight their way out. If he refused to fight and she had to drag him. If they made him Lord after all and he decided to stay. 

If he went with her the way she'd been planning to take him from the first moment she'd put her hands on him.

In the morning, she was dressed and ready, weapons slid into hidden places, knives and sticks and a sword at her belt. Ta-er al-Usfar in black armor.

When he woke up, finally, Leonard's eyes fixed on her and she could see the way his body relaxed just a little. Seeing her armed and ready.

He still said, "if they want to punish me, you won't interfere. I don't want that."

She shrugged. Not an agreement. He frowned. His eyes narrowed.

"Sara," he said, roughly, warningly. And she took his warning. He'd taken a man apart yesterday, a grown man, a trained soldier still in the prime of strength. Butchered him with a carving knife and one hand and not a scratch on him to show it once the gore was cleaned away. A creature of will and nerve, brutal when cornered.

Reckless of himself. Wounded to the core. He would fight for his sister, but they'd have to fight for him. But that she understood.

"You don't rule me, Leonard," she said, not ungentle, not unkind. But steady. "You don't decide where I interfere, who I defend, even if it's you."

He made an irritated, imperious sound but didn't waste his breathe. He understood her too. So she sat back and openly watched him dress, all in black, but linen and silk, not armor like hers but arming and shielding him all the same. Turning him from the young man in her bed into the Lord's son. Lord's Slayer. She smiled, seeing him. Knelt to help him lace his boots and watched the stillness in his face while she did it. Pressed a kiss to his knee which made him smile in return.

She offered her hand when they walked out the door. He snorted and made a face, but took it. His fingers felt good, weaving in with hers. Something in her relaxed. No question of where either of them stood, walking in like that.

In the council room, the notables were assembled. Sara recognized them all. Allen, the priest, of course. A burgher from the town named Wells. A guardsman, one who seemed more honest than most-- Singh. He'd been with Allen yesterday, after, when they found Lewis.

He had on the Captain's insignia now, when he hadn't yesterday. Interesting. Someone was making decisions already.

There were others who should be there, but a number were missing. Fled?

Lisa was seated at the head of the table in a chair that dwarfed her small body. She looked for all the world like a child wearing her mother's gown. But her mother was dead and her father too now. And the last family she had was walking into the room with his fate to be decided.

Nathaniel the Bard looked up and smiled at her from his seat. The poor disguise of the dirty cloak and hood he'd been wearing was gone now. Not that his battered travel clothes look much better, but the badge of his office commanded respect.

His smile faded quickly when he saw she was still holding Leonard's hand, fingers woven with his, openly and publicly. A claim made without words.

There was a quick, confused shake of the head, all the words he would say to her later in it. Like didn't she know that they were trying to make an alliance with the barbarian king? And what the hell was she doing with their best bargaining piece?

He'd be demanding answers of his own soon. So would Oliver, but fuck Oliver. 

But the council was convening. Sara sat next to Leonard, who let go of her hand and didn't say a word.

Lisa opened up, still looking like a child playing dress up. "We are here to decide the succession of Central."

"The old Lord is dead," Singh said, like it needed saying to make it official. "We must also address his killing."

"Parricide," Wells said. "Is an unforgivable crime. Or don't the gods say so?" He looked at Barry Allen, who looked away and at Leonard. Who still didn't say a word.

"The gods can forgive," Allen said, more at Leonard than anyone else in the room. "Circumstances matter."

"Can the law? Forgive?" Wells said then, looking over at Heywood.

The Bard said, "the law would put this decision in the hands of the rightful successor. Though where the next in line is the killer--"

Leonard finally spoke, said the words that were to obvious, that everyone in the room knew he'd say. Lisa was already seated at the head of the table. "I don't want it. The next in line is Lady Lisa. I support Lisa Snart's claim."

"A young girl?" Singh asked. "Can a daughter succeed?" He looked at Heywood who nodded.

"The laws are clear that a trueborn daughter can inherit. The land would accept her assuming she's otherwise suitable," Heywood said.

"She'd need a regent," Wells said, looking interested, like he'd volunteer. 

"Snart can-- Leonard can be regent." That was Barry Allen again. "He knows what the land needs." And for the first time Sara worried. He'd probably accept and stay here if it was asked of him. And that wasn't-- she wanted him with her.

"Actually, I'm volunteering you," Leonard drawled out looking back at Barry.

Barry looked taken aback and began to protest loudly.

Sara breathed out. Relaxed. Let their words drift over her, while the terms and rules and arguments were hammered out. Let herself drift for a while, and drink the wine she was offered.

Waiting.

Then Lisa spoke up. "It's true that my father is dead and my brother killed him. And it's true that requires a punishment."

Sara jerked up, ready to protest, ignoring Leonard's sharp head shake that told her not to. Lisa smiled at her as if to reassure.

"He will be exiled from Central. For five years, with the sentence to begin in seven days," Lisa said. Then looked at Barry. "If the regent agrees, of course."

Barry looked startled but didn't object.

Leonard looked-- he'd gone absolutely still. Quiet again. Eyes wide as he stared at his sister like she'd turned into a stranger before his eyes.

"Lenny. My beloved brother," Lisa said and there was a sad smile on her face when she looked at him. "You have kept me safe and taken care of me. So now, I have to do this for you. I must- I must order you to leave this place."

"You're really exiling me, Lisa?" Leonard asked incredulously. "From my home? Why?"

"I am. Lenny, this will always be your home and if in five years you want to come back, we'll be here. But you've been in this dark place for so long. I would free you." Her smile was hopeful, earnest. Certain. It made Sara wonder who'd given her the idea. If it was Nathaniel wanting Leonard out of here for his own reasons, for the Arrow's.

But Leonard nodded.

"It hasn't been so dark, with you here," he whispered. She smiled but shook her head.

"And I am here and I am well. And I will miss you but I don't want to see you for a long time." There were tears in her eyes and the pained smile stayed on her face. "Go. Walk in the light."

He stared at her, his eyes wide and bright. "Don't cry, Lisa," he said and went to her in just a few quick paces and she stood up and wrapped her arms around him and held him hard. "I'm always with you."

"You're the one that's crying," she said, though they both were.

The council looked away politely while the siblings embraced. Nate looked disgustingly pleased with himself, probably plotting how this would work out for the Arrow's plan. Barry wiped away his own tears. And Sara's eyes stung and she stared at her palms.

 

They had a week to unwind the fractured pieces of his life here. A week of goodbyes and the strange warmth and the wonder in Leonard's face that was walking out to the tavern with no one following him. Holding her hand in the street and smiling at her. The way he could have lived here, the well loved young lord.

The night before they left Lisa took her aside while Cisco and Barry closeted Leonard to finalize the hand project. 

"Five years?" Sara asked the girl. Lisa nodded.

"I'm trusting you, Sara," Lisa said, seriously. "Take him away. Bring him back whole and free and I'll be honored to be your sister by vow." 

"You know he's vowed to someone else?" Sara asked. She thought Lisa did but it was hard to know.

Lisa gave that imperious shrug, the one she shared so perfectly with her brother, along with his frank, cold eyed stare. "The one who sent you to kill me?" 

"The one we might need an alliance with. For the good of the kingdom," Sara said. What she'd been told. Not what she felt. But what would be said by others. 

"Right. Because the kingdom has done so much for us while we suffered." Lisa made a contemptuous noise. "It deserves him for a sacrifice?"

"He chose Rory once. Maybe he would again," Sara said. "Not a sacrifice then."

Lisa looked at her with her frank, searching stare. "Do you want him to?"

"No. No, I don't. But I've always wanted what doesn't belong to me." Sara said softly.

Lisa smiled then, the sweet one that she also shared with her brother, and patted her hand. "Well my blessing if you can win him."

/

Two men, old friends, met in a waystation on the King's highway. They embraced tightly, for these were dangerous times. You never knew if you'd meet again after a parting.

"Ray, my friend," said the one to the other. "Have I got a story for you."

"Can't wait to hear it, Nate," the other responded and they grinned at each other.

"You're going to want some very strong drink," Nate warned as they settled into a table in an isolated nook.

Ray hardly objected to strong drink. "Just let me know-- is Oliver going to like it?" 

"Well there are some good parts," Nate said with a shrug.

"That sounds ominous."

"For a reason. But here's the good news. I went North looking for a grave and found a living person." Nate leaned in close to whisper. "Chronos' beloved."

Ray blinked, eyes gone wide. "The bad news has to be really bad. Because that's pretty incredible. He'll have to be grateful then."

Nate sighed and scratched the back of his neck. "Well. Yeah. So. Sara Lance. You know Sara? Sara's up to her neck in it."

Ray's face fell. "Huh. So don't tell me, let me guess. Sara seduced the girl away from the memory of Chronos and they've thrown in their lot together. Now they've overthrown the evil Lord and they're loose in the countryside, plotting to steal King Merlyn's crown jewels?"

"Well, it's not a girl. Apparently, there was a mistranslation out of the South and the evil Lord had a son."

"Oh good, that's-" Ray paused, looking at Nate's expression of bemusement. "The rest of what I said is what happened, didn't it?"

Nate sighed. "I don't know anything about the jewels part but even that doesn't seem unlikely. But it's worse. Ray, she's in love with him. And he appears to return the sentiment."

"Holy gods. Chronos is going to have her head on a pike."

"And the demon's daughter is going to have his heart on a platter."

"Are they happy at least?" Ray sighed.

Nate nodded after thinking about for a second. "I think so. Honestly. I've never seen Sara this way before. It's a little terrifying."

"Well," Ray said. "Then I'm going to be happy for them."

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me @ https://ninhursag.dreamwidth.org/


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